


The Death + The Strawberry: Drabble Collection

by Altman



Category: Bleach
Genre: Drabbles, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-27 23:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12593276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altman/pseuds/Altman
Summary: A collection of Ichiruki drabbles crossposted from my Tumblr, @i-am-the-altman.Each one will have individual ratings and content warnings in its chapter summary, but there won't be anything about a 'T' rating.Tags will be updated to reflect overall content.





	1. Stolen Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The way you said 'I love you' - 12. As we lay together on the fresh spring grass.
> 
> CW: Mentions of scars and emotional trauma, kissing.

Everything was finally over. Sure, there were still Hollows to deal with, but that was normal; in terms of world-threatening crises, they had more than met their quota for, well, a long-ass time.

The time Ichigo spent with Rukia was now counted in stolen afternoons and evenings,  and mornings in their shared apartment (only because no one else was able to tolerate either of them as a roommate, or possibly because they could only tolerate each other) when, for a few brief moments, they could ‘forget’ their responsibilities, act like normal people.

But ‘normal’ never really fit them; ‘normal’ didn’t involve inexplicable scars, or vivid nightmares, or any one of the hundred other things that they lived with.

Keyword being ‘lived’, because they had survived, despite everything.

“We should get back soon, yeah?” Rukia spoke up, shifting closer to him, “Someone might start missing us...”

He mumbled something that could pass for an agreement, making no effort to stand. His thumb traced absent-minded paths along the back of her hand, and he revelled in her proximity.

She was, after everything they had been through, his best friend. So what if he had fallen a little bit -  _scratch that, absolutely and irrevocably_ \- in love with her somewhere along the way?

 _I should probably tell her that,_  the thought floated to the front of his mind, and he grinned, not caring how goofy his face must look.

“Hey, Ru.” He said, rolling onto his side to face her.

She snorted and mirrored his action, “What is it, Strawberry?”

Their hands were still clasped together.

“I love you.”

For a moment, he was absurdly afraid she would laugh at that, roll her eyes, and brush him off.

She didn't, and instead smiled brightly, drawing closer to him, “Took ya long enough."

He hoped she would do exactly what she did next, which was kiss him softly.

“I know you do.” She pulled back slightly, whispering the words practically against his lips, “I love you too.”

Kissing her, as it turned out, was a lot like breathing: once you started, it was  _really really_  hard to stop for longer than a few seconds. 

Someone, of course, eventually came looking for them; stolen moments still had to be paid for.


	2. Two A.M. shouldn’t even be a thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble Prompts: 9. "Why are you awake now?"
> 
> CW: PDA

Rukia can hear him tossing and turning quite clearly through the closet door.

Just one downside to the convenient arrangement they have, one where he doesn’t question why she climbs through his window some nights, and she…

She… Uh…

The inequality of the situation suddenly hit her like a truck.

_What the hell does he get out of this?_

The question is considered for a moment, and then placed aside. Ichigo is altruistic to a fault by nature, even if he didn’t look like it.

 _He’d do the same for any of our friends,_  Rukia concludes,  _yeah, that’s right._

Sliding the door open ever so slightly, she watches him as he restlessly shifts, clearly awake, not even making an effort to feign sleep.

Cautiously, she exits the closet, and pads across the room to crouch by his bed. He turns away as she draws near, breathing more evenly.

She pokes his shoulder gently, “Why are you awake right now?”

“Who says ‘m awake?” He mumbles brusquely, “Anyone awake at two-in-the-goddamn-mornin’ issa total dumbass…”

“Two A.M. shouldn’t even be a thing. Who made it a thing?”

Barely resisting the urge to laugh at his grumbling, she pokes him once more.

“Wanna talk about it?” She asks, “One dumbass to another?”

Ichigo sits up, shifting himself closer to the window, a wordless answer that also serves as an invitation.

She, of course, accepts it, settling herself on top of the covers - her brother-in-law would have a conniption and Ichigo’s dad might die of happiness if she did otherwise -  beside him.

A silence fills the room, heavy but not oppressive, intimate but not stifling, the kind of silence that doesn’t necessarily need to be broken.  

“D’you ever feel… aimless?” He asks, staring at the moon sinking towards the horizon, “Like you’ll never find your… the one place in the world you belong?”

“Sometimes, yeah. But I think that’s normal.” She replies, drawing her knees up to her chest, suppressing a shiver.

Insulated in the closet, a pair of shorts and one of his old t-shirts (still large on her, despite his preference for tight clothes) are fine; out in the room, not so much.

“No one seems to talk about it.”

“Well, I think that’s ‘cause we find smaller places for ourselves. Even if it’s not the  _one_  place for you, it doesn’t mean you don’t belong there.”

‘ _Like here, right now, there’s a place for you, with me.’_  She holds back the words; they sit like a lead weight in her throat.

Ichigo gives a ‘hmph’ of assent, and she can tell by the way his shoulders relax that her rambling response helped at least a little.

She shivers again, the jerky motion crumpling the sheets.

_Why is his room always so damn cold?_

He merely reaches one arm out, snagging her wrist and pulling her close; the awkward angle means she collides more with his back than his side, but hey, he’s warm - _so warm -_  and her exhausted brain decides that fact trumps any indignation.

“Dumbass, if you’re cold, you should’ve said something,” He chuckles, as she leans into him, worming her way under his arm, “I don’t want you turning into a Kuchiki-sicle on me.” 

“Not my fault your room is a goddamn freezer.” She shoots back, “Seriously, I’m surprised you haven’t gotten hypothermia by now.”

“Touché.” He says with a laugh, one that she can practically feel due to their proximity, “I concede this round to you, Miss Kuchiki, on account of being too tired for this shit.”

“Alright, as victor of this verbal sparring match, I declare that all blankets currently in use must be shared,” and then rolls her eyes at his incredulous look, “I’m not leaving the warmth, Ichigo.”

She sighs dramatically, placing a hand against her forehead and closing both her eyes in a passable imitation of a swoon, “I doubt my dainty constitution could handle it… You’d have to be downright cruel to condemn me to such a fate.”

Through a half-open eye, she sees that her efforts have been rewarded with a grin.

He makes a few more halfhearted protests - “Your feet are gonna be so fucking cold.” “I’m wearing socks.” “Shit.” -, but they both know he won’t kick her out now, despite his grumbling.

As she settles underneath the blanket, Rukia sighs contentedly, nestling near Ichigo. He drapes an arm around her protectively, pulling her flush against his side.

“It’ll be warmer for both of us.” He explains, as if his blush isn’t close to matching his hair, though judging from the heat she feels on her own cheeks, she has no room to talk.

“Whatever, Strawberry. Jus’ make sure you set an early alarm so I can get outta here before everyone else wakes up.” She says, fighting a losing battle against a yawn.

Ichigo scoffs, flicking her forehead so lightly she’s not sure if it actually happened, “Pfft, as if I’d forget to do that.”

She might have kissed him then, or he might have kissed her, or maybe there wasn’t a kiss at all; then again, maybe there were two.

One thing is certain: he forgot about the alarm, and they never heard the end of it.


	3. Make you stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Come over here and make me."
> 
> This got much steamier than I expected, definitely a hard 'T' rating. 
> 
> CW: Kissing, mentions of injuries.

Ichigo shouldn’t be up and moving yet, Rukia knows that.  _He_ knows that, and yet he’s out of bed all the same.

“You’re in no shape to be fighting.” She points out, cognizant of the fact that he’s probably not going to listen to reason.

His back stays towards her, and if he heard her words, he gives no indication. 

“Everyone’s overreacting. Seriously, I’m fine.” He says after a moment, peeling his shirt off, revealing a torso wrapped in bandages; a wince of pain undermines the protest, “Mostly.”

She watches as he grabs a new shirt from dresser, moving with grace despite his wounds. Even at nineteen years, he’s still lanky; all sinew and scars - some physical, others… not so much. 

“Ichigo,” Her tone carries both a plea and a note of warning, “you should be resting.”

He finally faces her, and flourishes his Shinigami badge teasingly.

“You want me to stop?” He asks, his lips twisted into a cocky smirk, “Come over here and make me.”

She’s across the room before he can finish, one hand latching onto his wrist, the other grabbing a fistful of his shirt; the smirk never fades.

This time, her voice is rougher when she says his name, “Ichigo.”

His free hand drifts to her waist as she presses herself close, the proximity sending a shiver through both of them.

“You can go,” She releases her grip on his collar, moving to cup his face, thumb trailing across his cheek, “or… you can stay. Here. With me.”

He has the gall to pretend to consider the choices for a moment, and she’s almost tempted to act offended, but then his lips crash into hers, and she can’t bring herself to care about anything else.

There’s a dull ‘thud’ as the badge drops to the ground.

 _Victory,_  a small part of her mind cheers, and is then promptly told to shut up, as there are more important things to pay attention to, like the weight of his hands on her waist, and the way he whispers her name softly, as if she were something precious.

While she guides them towards the bed, the heat of his breath as he trails quick kisses from her collarbone to her jawline is almost enough to make her lose focus entirely.

They tumble onto the mattress, and the hitch in his breathing reminds her to slow things down, be careful; he is injured after all.

Pulling her into his lap, he leans against the headboard, and she tangles her fingers into his hair, as if she could somehow draw him closer than he already is.

The slam of the door nearly sends her into cardiac arrest, and the resulting startled jump turned their kiss into a headbutt.

“ICHIGOOOO!” Isshin’s call and customary attack couldn’t have come at a worse time, “TIME FOR DINNER!”

Rukia tumbles backwards, laughing at the look on Ichigo’s face that somehow managed to be shocked, furious, and disappointed at once while he fends off the kick.

The interruption dealt with, he rises from the bed, scowling, and offers her a hand, which she accepts after another moment of laughter.

“One of these days, I’m gonna kill him.” He grumbles, as they head downstairs.

She nods sagely, grinning, “I’ll help you hide the body.”


End file.
